Balance of Power: Eden Gate
by Crackbunny Syndrome
Summary: Sequel to Balance of Power -- Explosions. Gunplay. Horseplay. Swordplay. Wordplay -- and foreplay. Bad puns. Steampunk fashions. Worse puns. Hawaiian shirts. AND THE DEATH OF THE NINJAVAN! Not even AAA can find this intersection...
1. Prologue

**Balance of Power: Eden Gate  
Prologue**

The old man was dying. He had lain in his bed for a week, or perhaps a month. His age-dimmed eyes barely noted the change from day to night, now that his life was near its ending. His mind had wandered, sometimes walking the paths of his youth, other times going stranger places. But his thoughts were clear now. He knew from the coolness of the air and the smell of the stone temple walls that it was hours before a dawn he would not greet. He murmured a prayer to the god he had served all his life, then raised his voice.

_"Benu, tchema ke."_ He called in the temple tongue, the language of his ancient people. _Warrior-Son, attend._

There was a rustling from the next room, and the padding of bare feet on a well-swept floor. The old man heard the younger approach, then kneel at his bedside. _"Yulshen, ke teru." Warrior-Father, here I am._

The old man reached, and found a solid shoulder. The boy had grown to manhood, now, his body strong and flexible, his mind disciplined and devoted.

"It's time," the old man said in a voice gone reedy in the dryness of age.

"Time? Father, I--"

"Hush and attend, my student." The old man patted the shoulder, feeling the warm life pulsing steadily within his student as it no longer did in himself. "Go to the shelf. Do you see the cedar-wood box?"

"Yes, Warrior-Father."

"Bring it to me." The old man waited, and ran his fingertips over the smooth wood his student put in his hands before he opened it. "Look, Warrior-Son. Here are the signs. I saw them before the planting-season."

"I see only a beetle's dry body and a dried flower, Father." There was confusion in the younger man's voice.

"You will see, when the sun rises. It's time, Son. Time for us both to go." The old man heard another voice, more clearly than that of the man he had trained from boyhood. It was indeed time, and he welcomed it with a soft sigh.

Beside the old warrior-priest's bed, the young one put his face in the blankets and wept.

**__________**

The creature lay amid the curls of mist. Harsh breath lifted slick sides, respiration interrupted by the glide beneath its skin -- worms that swam briefly under the greyish hide before burrowing into flesh once more.

The massive head slid on the spongy surface, the ridged cheek digging a groove as it blinked tiny eyes at the murky white surroundings. Heavy lips pulling back from dark gums, it bared small teeth as a jolt of pain surged through its body.

_"Wait!- I can't get a clear shot- Keep back!-NO!"_ Voices it knew, voices it didn't, skittered in whispers, tickled like thousands of spider legs running over its flesh. Pain and memory scorching past in a torrent that burned patterns in its brain. It was aware of itself, that it was not what it had been. It _reached_, fell short. Instinct drove it, made it writhe and strain as the sensations merged and wove confusion about it. Children giggled beyond its vision, the ripples of their mirth trembling through its gleaming sides. Dissatisfaction -- it rose and nearly became volition, then sank again under the weight twisting _was_ and _is _and _might be._

But it sensed one certainty, without comprehending it. It drove itself to what might have been feet. Or maybe it slithered on its belly. Perhaps it was doing both --t he tides of madness carried it onward, uncaring. What mattered was that it moved.

It was time. Its senses cleared, enough for a world to coalesce in its mind. Time to _go._

Shifting one muscled haunch, it curled blunt toes for purchase -- paused when its arms couldn't push its torso upright. It thrashed, staggered to misshapen feet, and lurched forward.

Cold dragged its attention back to the non-world around it; a forced, humping lurch finally putting the odd ground beneath its broad feet. A sound like a bleat rose from its throat.

Wind was building. Abruptly, a hard snap, a whip of electrical fire wound around its form--

--a burst of sulfur burning through its nostrils. _Hatred. _It hated, and its mind re-formed around that hatred.

The surface was torn away.

The wind rose to a gale, and despite its weight the creature was hurled backward. Twin doors materialized at its back, then a slender crack groaned as the heavy doors swung open.

Fear replaced hatred for a moment, and the creature fought uselessly, spinning as it tumbled towards the event horizon. No force could have stopped its fall.

It was time.

**__________**

It was time. There was nothing else to do, nothing else to pack. The woman pulled the door to the house closed, leaving the key in the lock. Around her, the village was beginning to stir. The sun was still low on the horizon, and she had a long way to go.

Rose checked the load in the cart, making sure nothing would shift and fall onto her drowsing son. The boy slept even as his mother positioned herself behind the draw bar and leaned her weight on it to get the wheels moving over the cobblestones. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, trying to hurry, but the voices followed her anyway.

"Good riddance." Mrs. Murphy, the baker's wife.

"Curse go with you and your witch-brat." Cern, the rag-man. He'd been the one who turned the villagers' uncertainty into outright hostility, and Rose's back stiffened at his hiss.

Other eyes watched her going, leaving behind her house and most of its furnishings. She'd spent five years sewing and mending, doing her best to make ordinary cotton and wool look like the fashionable linens, silks, and cashmeres pictured in the ladies' fashion magazines. Five years of saving scraps and haggling over every mouthful of food for herself and her growing child.

Five years trying to forget the twisted path that had brought her here.

Now she was again a refugee. The town where she had grown up wouldn't have her, reminder of Cornello that she was. Nor would she be safe in the cities, where two-legged predators prowled and no one knew or cared about neighbors. She had considered it, weighed her options, then bought herself sturdy walking boots and the cart.

There was only one place left to go.

**__________**

On the third morning, the fierce sun came up and threw red light across the grave. The young man kneeling at its head waited, the cedar box open in his hand and a polished sickle-sword laid on the sandy ground in front of his knees, until the glowing ball rose above the horizon, then closed the box and tucked it into the knapsack he'd prepared. He murmured in the temple tongue, his voice pitched for the teacher he had buried. _May your journey be swift and the path straight, Warrior-Father._

It was time. The young priest gathered up his pure-white hair, and tied it back in a ponytail that just brushed the nape of his neck. Then he picked up the sword and folded the end of his sash around the blade, drawing it through the fabric to clean away the dust. He sheathed the weapon, then picked up his knapsack and settled it across his shoulders. Finally, he hefted a light rifle, checking the safety lever before slinging the modern thing over his shoulder.

He strode off toward the sun through a field of sapphire-blue flowers.


	2. Chapter One: The Ninjavan Has Landed

The eyes! There were thousands of them -- framed by carved, twisted, vaguely human figures that led the eye helplessly toward the unblinking purple gaze in the center. Chittering giggles echoed in Reilly's head as she strained to wrap her brain around the scene just beyond the nose of the Ninjavan.

She'd scrambled into the front passenger seat once gravity had reasserted itself and she'd realized they hadn't died a horrible death (at least she didn't _think_ they were all dead...), but her mind refused to accept what her senses insisted was happening.

Sound, indeed life itself, seemed oddly muted. Ed's swearing at Tom and Hughes as they tried to convince the elder Elric to let go of Al long enough to strap him into a seat was a distant bleat, though the Edwardian Sturm und Drang raged no more than five feet away. Ducky sat utterly silent, staring gape-jawed at the gate -- no, this was definitely the capital-G _Gate_ -- standing there amid Oblivion. The Ninjavan had stopped falling, at least. Not that there was anything for it to fall from, to, or through, as far as Reilly could see... Well, nothing but that enormous Gate.

Which was wide open and staring at them.

"Okay... s-- so now what?" Ducky stammered.

"How the hell should I know?!" Ed snapped.

As if in answer to the question, tendrils -- _like spilled ink_ -- rolled/tumbled/reached out of the depths of the abyss toward the van.

"What... what is that stuff, Ed?" Ducky asked.

"Again with the questions!" Ed shouted at whoever was listening, which wasn't really anyone, as the others were too preoccupied with what was going on outside the van. "Come on, Al! Al, please, wake up!"

Reilly continued to watch intently as a strand of black wormed its way through a bullet hole in the roof. Once free of the edge, a small hand formed; grasping, it reached out to her. Mesmerized, she lifted a hand toward it.

"_Shit!_ Mary, don't touch it!" Tom shouted from behind her, but it was too late.

The moment her finger connected with the odd little hand, more black tendrils reached in through every other crack and hole in the van, forming tiny arms that latched onto everyone and everything. Ed wrestled with one that tried to pull Al's flute away, ignoring the fingers picking at his clothes and probing his face. Ducky's eyes bugged out, curiosity clashing violently with his self-preservation instinct as he pressed back into his seat. Hughes had been several shades of green since diving into the van, and what little color was left in his face was now draining as he watched the onslaught.

Reilly had known that there was something else -- _someone else_ -- out there the night Edward arrived on her property all those months ago. Now she saw it. She let the tiny hand feel its way up her arm, over her shoulder, then clasp elastic fingers over her face. In an instant, everything went black.

The void wasn't empty. She couldn't see anything; but the short hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end and prickling crawled up her spine and along her arms as she sensed the proximity of something. After a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she thought she could see a vaguely spherical shape -- no, she had no eyes in this place. She didn't have physical form, here. She was spirit and energy. She was free.

Millions of tiny pinpricks of light appeared in the distance and streaked toward her, and it was only then that she realized the space around her was filled with spheres. They floated, shiny and smooth; their glassy surfaces reflected the luminous pastels of the onrushing lights, which grew to wide ribbons that swirled and streamed like glittering kite-tails in the wind. They undulated together like schooling fish, until they reached the first of the spheres, then they broke apart, encircling it, enveloping it and dancing around it, brushing the surface, leaving a trail of light wherever they touched until the sphere was completely aglow.

"Holy shit, Ed! Are these things gonna suck out my brains?!" Reilly heard Ducky's complaint as if he were right next to her. At the same instant, the lights exploded out from the now radiant sphere like startled birds. Scattered and confused, they flew and whirled and fluttered around at random a moment, then began to come back together. _"Dude! Those sprites aren't supposed to do that!"_ In the strangeness of this space, Ducky's voice reverberated and faded out all at once.

Again, the lights swarmed a dark sphere and kissed it to life. "Will you just! Shut! Up!" Ed. And once more, the ribbons of light startled and flew away. _"You're not going alone, you bastard!"_ Like Ducky's voice, Ed's rebounded and was swallowed up by the dark in an instant.

The multicolored fireflies of light danced and stroked every sphere surrounding her, and as each flared to life, Reilly heard a comforting, familiar voice, then the strange disappearing echo immediately following. "Calm down, Ed." Hughes. _"You're right. It's personal, now."_

A reed flute sang a soaring arpeggio, and a sullen red ember rose from the depths. The ribbons of light first shied, then scattered in seeming panic as a voice of merciless threat growled, _"Let me go."_ The flute note dropped and scolded, and ribbons wound around the dim red glow, forcing it to brighten. The orb loomed and rushed toward Reilly with a roar -- then exploded into glittering fragments that tumbled down, down into darkness. The anechoic voice continued to grind in her ears. _"...ancients were writing to you, foreign woman. To warn you, and to warn __**of**__ you..."_

_"It is time... It is not yet time..."_ A woman's cry. _"Get up... and move... forward!"_ The fading rough snarl. _"I am dead. Let me go."_ A child's desperate scream. _"Brother!"_

_"It's got hold of us!"_ She knew that voice, reached toward it for comfort, an anchor to herself.

_"See you guys on the other side!"_ Another voice she knew -- but it was whipped away on a wave of noise and color before she could call out to it. Voices familiar and unfamiliar -- it was difficult to pick any one sound out of the cacophony that wrapped itself around her and burrowed into her mind. They were angry, they were in pain, they were terrified -- the welter of sensations smothered her as they vied for dominance in her brain. Images flicked past her eyes. A flash of blue and gold, white and red, splashes of crimson, of sand, of black fabric, glints of steel, brown leather...

_"...can't stop it..." "...the books of heresy..." "...end it NOW!"_

Dust in her throat, tasting of ancient death. Fingers caressing her skin, some intimately enough to make her moan and others stroking her and gloating over a newly-won possession. Twisted forms convulsing in flickering yellow light, dust and rubble, blackened flesh, accusing eyes, red and yellow lightning.

_"...You've got to stop it..." "I can't hold it!..." "...listen to me! I was wrong!" _ The voices rose to a scream that shattered the spheres as it soared into the supersonic, lightning flashed across her brain--

_Isolation._

Complete, utter silence. It was no mere shunning, but the lack of _anything_ and _anyone_ to be isolated from. The shroud spread out of _her_, obliterating all light. She was free -- but she was _alone_ and she screamed, desperate to find _another_, some scrap of life to ward off the void--

_Mare!_ A choked cry in a voice hoarse in desperation, a callused hand pulling at her arm, she twisted and something else snatched her around the throat.

_**"Demon! God has cursed me with renewed life and sent me to destroy you!"**_

The condemnation stuck like a battering ram into her solar plexus. Through silent vastness, through the meaningless dark--

--back into her body with enough force to knock the wind out of her with a loud gust...

...Terrible power spoke in the clear, innocent treble of children. _"Now it is time for the beginning and the end."_

**Balance of Power: Eden Gate **

**Arc Two -- Chapter One**

_**"Tranquility Base Here; the Ninjavan Has Landed"**_

_"For the Eye of Ishballa sees an open gate where men see towering walls."_ From The Twenty-eighth Book of Sand: the Ishbalan Histories, University of Cashel translation.

**Central City, Amestris **

**October 21st, 1917**

Hundreds of well-thought out questions died unspoken on his lips as the two boys emerged from the improvised entrance of the airship. Despite the chaos surrounding his reappearance, Edward moved without a care in the world, one arm wrapped firmly around his brother's shoulders as if he'd just gone to the market instead of disappearing from the country (planet? all natural existence?) for over a year. This unfamiliar laid-back calm was so completely different from how he remembered the kid acting, that Roy's mind completely blanked. Drawing in a steadying breath, all he could think to say was, "did you neutralize the threat, Fullmetal?"

Edward laughed_ --laughed-- _and smiled warmly. "Didn't think I'd ever get to hear you talk business again."

Then he frowned that serious, pensive frown, the one Roy never thought _he'd_ see again. "Come on, I don't want to leave her unattended for too long."

Roy followed numbly as Ed, still half-hugging Al -- already attempting to make up for lost time, led the way back inside to a cargo hold area of some sort. Suits of armor like the ones that had attacked the city below littered the expanse, shifting in tight, concentric circles around a nearly concealed body curled up in a corner. Al broke away from his brother's hold somewhat reluctantly to stride up boldly to the suits. They parted to let both Elrics pass through, though Roy remained firmly behind, unwilling to let his guard completely down. Ed checked the body over briefly, passing a quick wave in front of unfocused eyes and lightly slapping a cheek with a shining automail hand. Satisfied at the lack of response, he sighed, not quite hiding his disgust. "She shouldn't be a threat anymore."

"What..."

"Shell shock." Ed quirked a slight grin Roy's direction and asked wryly, "it's not every day you see armor moving on its own, right?"

Roy cracked the slightest grin of his own as Ed glanced over at Al, golden eyes drinking in every last detail of what he'd devoted and sacrificed so much of his life to, hungrily committing each of his brother's features to memory. He shook his head lightly before facing Roy again.

"Anyway," Ed reiterated, unable to completely shake his punch-drunk demeanor, "she'll be thinking twice before attacking again."

Then Edward asked for his help, something that he'd never done so directly before. Roy returned with Alphonse out on the far end of the wing where the boys had anchored the ship. At his signal, Roy sent a spark out to the back endpoint Ed had directed for him to light one of the remaining engines. Simultaneously, Al set off a transmutation to knock the ship loose so inside Ed could maneuver the behemoth around. As they banked a wide turn, Roy could see the gaping hole between downtown and the Wague district where it had broken free from underground. The view was incredible, from so high up, and for a few minutes Roy found himself nearly forgetting about the turn of events that had brought him to view such a sight. After the engine burned out, Ed emerged again. When he remained near the entrance, Roy immediately felt himself falling into an old habit. He remembered that the kid didn't have the patience for chess; it was just a waste of time, he'd heard more than once. When it mattered, though, to Ed, he'd strategize to the very last outcome. Fullmetal was up to something, Roy could tell, and from the way his deception radar was tingling, he had the impression that he needed to figure it out soon.

"That woman inside," Roy began, deciding to not to waste any time with pleasantries that would have been lost on Edward anyway, "is she an alchemist?"

"Something like that," Ed replied. One of the armor suits bumped into him on its slow guard processional. He knocked on its chest plate and addressed his brother, "You sure you've got control of these things?"

"Yep. For a few hours at least," Al replied, face wrinkling into a relieved grin. "Though I should probably be asking you if the other Al built this thing to land better than your ship."

"The... other... Al?"

Al paled at Roy's stunned question, remembering instantly that they weren't alone, and turned wide-eyed to his brother. Ed hesitated, and Roy could see him working out how much he should speak, how much he thought Roy had already guessed.

"Where I was," Ed began, "where she came from -- where all this stuff came from... it's like here, but not. You asked if she was an alchemist. Well, she's not, because alchemy doesn't exist there like here. Maybe she would have been, but at some point in the past, our histories diverged."

"If that's the case," Roy replied, struggling to grasp the enormity of Fullmetal's revelation, "any single action could form a new world."

Edward stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "Right, though I've only seen one."

"And there's other people over there, like us here?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Roy knew he shouldn't have said them. Some indescribable emotion flashed across Ed's face, but he smoothed it away before Al picked up on anything. Roy saw it only because he hadn't taken his eye off the kid since suspecting he was hiding something. When Edward chanced another regret-filled glance at Al, Roy felt his heart drop to his feet. They both realized time was short, and continued the real conversation nonverbally.

"Does it matter? They're not the same," Ed answered carefully. _I'd tell you everything if I could._ He forced a half-hearted smirk. "Trust me, I'd have found a way back sooner if I had to put up with another one of you."

_Who else did you meet? Who would you stay for? _

Ed gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, already stopping that line of thought and returning focus back to the here and now. "You can call off the search for our father, if that's still going on."

Al flinched at the mention of Hohenheim and Ed swallowed thickly before continuing. "He... sacrificed himself to open the gate on the other side so I could get home," Ed's voice barely wavered, but Roy could see genuine sadness in his eyes as he stared compassionately at his brother, "I'm sorry Al."

Though his expression didn't change, Al managed to convey his grief with a single nod. He stepped back and turned to look out across the sky. Ed sighed, blinking back his own loss, and continued, "I hate to ask, but it'd be nice to know that Winry and Schieszka aren't going to end up in jail for snooping around underground."

"If they get caught," _and the brass doesn't hang me for what I've already done today,_ Roy thought wildly, remembering that Ed probably had not heard the details of the outcome of his last night here, "I'll try to work something out."

"Thanks." _Take care of them. _

_You have my word. _

Roy turned to check on Al, serious about what he'd committed to. The kid tore his gaze away from the scenery below long enough to smile bravely, "it's incredible, from so high up. We really are just a tiny part of something so much greater, aren't we?"

Al searched his gaze for understanding, the typical reaction Roy had seen during his brief encounters with the younger Elric over the past year. Trying to find his way through a situation he'd been thrust into with no recollection of what had already been done before, Alphonse had grown up more since the night of Ed's disappearance than the four years previous, Roy thought. Yet he still trusted his brother to a fault, the most obvious manifestation being his naivety and unwaivering faith that Edward would return to him. Al had been proven right today, but Roy had a pretty good idea of what Ed was planning to do. He could endure Ed's mysterious absences. Damned if he was going spend the rest of Al's lifetime watching the boy cope with the effects of another one, though. Hell, one day -- a single missed opportunity -- was one unnecessary moment too long that Al didn't need to suffer.

Edward was still treating him as his superior, so he might as well play the part. Even with Fullmetal's obvious growth spurt and new maturity, he couldn't possibly have gained more life experience than Roy himself. Okay, Roy conceded, looking around from his perch in the sky, that wasn't out of the realm of possibility... but there was a lot more to Roy Mustang than Ed had ever bothered to ask about. He would show that he was more than just a glorified lighter with gloves -- he'd even have Al pass on the message himself. Let the almighty Edward Elric chew on _that_ parting shot for the next lifetime.

Armed with a game plan and already refining the details, Roy was prepared to let Ed show his hand.

_I'll let you think that I'm just going to let you go. You can hate the fact that you can't even hate me for what I'm really doing later. I'd tell you to stay out of trouble, but we both know that's highly unlikely to happen... _

"So what now?"

**__________**

**Somewhere Inside the Ishballan Border **

**September 2, 1919**

She was close enough to count them, now. Four -- four men. Rose gritted her teeth and put her weight against the drawbar of the cart, digging her worn boots into the parched clay beneath her feet. The men sat crosslegged beneath their spread awning, a tall double-handled clay jar prominently displayed in the center of their ground cloth.

"You have come far," the eldest of the men said as Rose approached. "Why have you come?"

"I've got nowhere else to go," Rose answered, slowly easing the drawbar down to the ground. "Your people were kind to me and my son once. I can cook and sew. I'm willing to work." She'd thought about what to say for weeks and miles, weighed words with every step.

"You are not one of us. You do not know the teachings of Ishballa." There was an air of finality to the words.

"I do." The clear treble voice spoke from among the bags in the cart. "I know about Ishballa. Only that's not the right way to say his name. It's supposed to be _Yishvar._"

The men beneath the awning stiffened. "Who told you that?" one of them demanded.

"My friend did." Rose's son climbed out of the cart and met the glare of Ishbalan-red eyes with innocent confidence. "He knows a lot about Yishvar, and he's even teaching me to talk to him. He says I see funny things because Yishvar wants me to see them."

"Jeremiah!" Rose stepped over the cart shafts and took her child by the shoulders. "That's enough." She looked up at the wide-eyed men. "I'm sorry, he doesn't mean to offend anyone. He just talks before he thinks--" she stopped as the elder among them raised his hand in a calming gesture.

"Peace, foreign woman." He got to his feet, then dipped a long-handled ladle into the water jar. He held the brimming ladle toward the boy. "Drink, child, and tell us more about the friend who has told you these things."

Jeremiah bent his head and took a mouthful of the water. _"Sihr tarnu, Yahn ke Ushema. Shru wentari ke mirema?"_

The old man's hands trembled as he offered the ladle to Rose. _"Who taught this boy?"_

**__________**

**Central City, Amestris **

**September 3, 1919**

The office, Breda decided, was too quiet.

He set aside the report he'd been reading (one of Falman's painfully precise summaries of the monthly supply tallies with an interesting recount of his other activities that quarter) and leaned back in his chair to better survey the nearly-vacant room. Mustang's chair remained in the corner where Breda had moved it the first day he "took over." Sitting behind the General's spacious desk felt unnatural enough -- sitting in the man's chair made Breda jumpier than having Hayate sleeping on his foot. Not that this was the first time Breda had been left in charge. After the Reform, Hawkeye had spent more time with the recovering General than in the office. Havoc and Fuery had been in slightly more "trouble" for their impersonations than the rest involved with the coup, so it had fallen to Breda to hold the fort.

Falman would have made a better office manager -- he was by far the better organizer -- but despite years of working for Mustang, he had never officially transferred from Military Investigations. Hughes' department had originally loaned Falman to Mustang to work the Bald case. After that, Mustang managed to keep Falman by putting in a request for an intelligence analyst with excellent organizational and diplomatic skills to handle the detailed -- and usually sensitive -- follow-up work Edward Elric's missions invariably produced. When Ed disappeared, Mustang assigned Falman, his long-borrowed investigator, to chase down every lead. That work, Breda mused, would soon end. The five-year anniversary of Ed's disappearance was approaching fast. The military would declare Edward Elric officially, legally dead, find someone to give Ed's accumulated pay to, and close the Fullmetal file permanently. With that, the last approved reason to keep Falman on the search and on Roy Mustang's staff would evaporate. No one, not even Falman himself, had yet come up with a halfway-plausible reason for an intelligence analyst to be working full-time for the General, instead of in the department with the rest. Nor did it seem like such a reason would pop up soon. As fools in books and radio programs often said, it was too quiet.

It wasn't just Falman, either. The entire military seemed to be slowing down. Even Mustang was running short of creative busywork. The General took great pains to make it look like he and his staff were always overworked. They had mastered the art of looking busy. They usually _were_, just not with projects the government or the military knew about or would approve of. They left enough of a paper trail to satisfy suspicious rivals and nosy civilians, and legitimate daily paperwork could always be counted on to run above capacity, no matter how little real activity there was. Hell, even before the surprise vacation, the General had approved Fuery's request to spend some time in the Communications Department. The Com teams were still manually patching calls around the massive hole in the middle of the city. There were nowhere near enough trained operators to handle the sheer volume of the traffic -- Fuery spent much of his time in the warrens of wiring and switches, training raw recruits to keep track of which line was which and to secure high-level calls. Breda and Havoc each spent at least one day a week working with the excavation and cleanup crews trying to keep the modern city from collapsing into the cavern that was the old city. It was a wonder the brass hadn't realized that Mustang barely had enough work to keep himself occupied, let alone the rest of his generously staffed department. Leaning forward, Breda studied his chairless desk, with folders and reports and forms stacked in haphazard piles that encroached onto Havoc's desk as well, waiting to be processed and filed.

Breda sighed. It never seemed to pile so high when Hawkeye was around.

The door opened, and Black Hayate strolled in, proudly leading Kain Fuery.

"Hey, Breda."

"Fuery."

"Any news?"

"Not since yesterday," Breda replied, watching Hawkeye's mutt out of the corner of his eye. Black Hayate trotted over to the General's chair, circled twice, and sat next to it, his alert eyes guarding the door. "They should have left for Rush Valley by now. Hawkeye said she'd call... after."

Fuery nodded thoughtfully. "Right."

"Something wrong, man?"

"Well... No... I'm not sure."

Breda raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I... I think I just got offered a job."

"You what?"

"The head tech reviewed my last report and said if they weren't so swamped with Underground work, he'd hire me on the spot to go fix the Aerugo phone mess."

"Really."

"It caught me off guard. Aren't transfers supposed to go through superiors first?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, they're all going to lunch. Want to go hit the mess hall with me?"

"I would if I didn't have a meeting in an hour."

"I could bring you something back."

"Nah, you don't have to. Go out with the Comm guys, I'll get food later."

"You're starting to sound like the General," Fuery laughed. "Come on, Hayate."

Fuery closed the door and Breda's coat fell off its post nearby. Wearily he ignored it and added unauthorized transfers to the mental list he was keeping to report to Hawkeye the next time she checked in.

Before he finished his thought, the door opened again and Falman stumbled in, tripping over Breda's coat. The man scooped it up with one hand, keeping a lunch tray level with the other, and tossed it over the back of a chair.

"Figured you'd still be here," Falman chuckled. "Even the General takes his lunch hour, you know."

"I was planning on hitting the mess after I finished with your report."

"Don't bother, eat." Falman set the tray down.

Breda obliged and snagged a sandwich. After taking a bite, he waved the sandwich at the report he'd been reading. "Have you really written these things on Ed every quarter for the past four years?"

"Four and a half, actually," Falman admitted. He studied the ceiling for a minute before continuing, "So the Major said if I wasn't busy, he could use an extra hand on the North tunnel investigation."

"I haven't heard about a North tunnel before."

"That's why it needs investigating," Falman answered. "Apparently while digging another bunker in Briggs, Major General Armstrong's work crews discovered a sizable tunnel system. She ordered a full inspection and extra personnel support from Central."

"And Investigations wants you to go to Briggs." Breda stated, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, no... not right away at least. Preliminary reports show the deepest areas run a straight line toward Central. I'm supposed to check out the northernmost sections of the Underground here to see if there might be a connection."

Breda frowned outright at that, but tried to keep his concern to himself. "You finished what Mustang left you?"

"You're reading the last of it now," Falman replied, waving to the abandoned report next to Breda's lunch.

"I guess it's okay. Hawkeye didn't say they needed anything else from us yet."

"Good." Falman coughed lightly, suddenly looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Call me if you hear more."

"Will do. Thanks for checking in."

Falman left quickly, carefully returning Breda's jacket to its hook on his way out. Breda picked at the remains of lunch and skimmed through the rest of Falman's report without absorbing much of it. Not for the first time he feared that Mustang's absence had gone from extended to _too long_. People were getting too comfortable, and in some cases downright lazy, as rumors started to spread that the General had either had another nervous breakdown or finally run off with one of his many female conquests. As a result, Mustang's command was slowly coming apart. Clutter was building up in offices, without the threat of arriving at work to find nothing but bare walls and ashes in place of one's file cabinets and furniture. No one would have dared arrive for work with a two-day collection of stubble, with the Flame Alchemist stalking the halls. Nor would there be idle chatter on the phone lines or security guards flirting instead of patrolling. The higher-ups had even warmed up to Breda sitting in on Mustang's regular meetings; just that morning he'd fielded a call from a Major in Procurement asking _his_ advice on suppliers of raw materials and equipment for large-scale alchemical testing. Add in the Comm tech and the breaches of protocol with job offers... it was all a Bad Sign, for sure.

He was halfway through the last page of the report when the door opened for the third time.

"Well, well, hard at work I see. And over lunch, too."

"Sir!" Breda hastily stood and saluted as General Hakuro entered the room fully, closing the door behind him.

"At ease," he said, casually prowling the office. He paused in front of Hawkeye's desk, the only one not littered with papers. Breda was careful to work around Hawkeye's territory; her desk was as organized as she'd left it. "Mustang's still not in?"

"No, sir."

"Hmm," Hakuro mused, "I thought he would be back by now."

_Not yet, but you already knew that, seeing as you approved his leave,_ Breda thought sourly, glad he had filed the vacation extension requests he'd filled and signed for Hawkeye and Havoc earlier that morning.

Hakuro sighed and began his circuitous path around the office again. "My secretary goes on maternity leave starting next week and unfortunately I leave on a business trip tomorrow -- it came up last-minute, quite unexpected. I'm sure Mustang could have sympathized," he said dryly.

Hakuro stopped at Mustang's chair and took a seat. "It's a shame he's not here, I had a favor to ask him."

Though Breda refused to bite, Hakuro still indulged in revealing his purpose for being there. "I was hoping he'd let me borrow Captain Hawkeye for a few weeks while I'm gone. Not just anyone can keep an office up and running to our military standards, as I'm sure you're aware." He leaned back, appraising Breda, left hand still clutching Falman's report. "Please, take a seat, Captain."

"Lieutenant," Breda promptly corrected.

Hakuro chuckled and settled further into the chair, as if he'd been given a most interesting revelation. "Mustang left a First Lieutenant in charge of his office?"

"Second, actually," Breda replied grimly.

Hakuro frowned. It was a calculated expression that didn't reach the General's eyes.

"You've been working for Mustang for quite a while," Hakuro noted, standing to clap a hand on Breda's shoulder. His fingers lingered on the edges of the single star there for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled them away. "That is a shame. Yes, I do need to have a talk with Mustang when he returns. Keep up the good work, _Lieutenant._"

Breda counted off a full minute after Hakuro left the room before he made the call. He let the line trill three times before he hung up, then he dialed the number once more and waited. He heard the click of the receiver being picked up on the other end this time, but there was silence otherwise. "It's time," Breda said, then disconnected the call.

**__________**

**Northern Border of Aerugo **

**September 3, 1919**

The wall reared high, a dark shadow blotting out the stars that shone on the land beyond. The border compound squatted beneath it, its kerosene lamps casting a baleful, flickering light out onto the smooth, silent water of the river that flowed past its gates. The sounds were those of the deep night, of horses whuffing to each other in their paddocks inside the walls, and the faint groaning of the heavy sliding grates that allowed the border guards to extract tolls from boat traders working the river.

There were many shadows in the scrubby land beyond the station's dim glow. One of them detached from the cover of a knuckle of rock and glided toward the compound with only the faint creak of sandal leather and fainter whispers of fabric and breath giving it away as a living body and not a ghost out to walk some forgotten path.

The horses scented its presence first, raising their heads from their hay and snorting. Their ears pricked up and they shied away from the wall as faint sounds abruptly became running, crunching footsteps and the harsh panting of explosive effort. Something caught hold of the top of the wall and vaulted it, dropping to the hard-packed ground beyond in a swirl of sand-colored fabric and flying white hair.

The warrior-priest rolled to his feet and sprinted toward the central building of the compound as horses squealed and men shouted. He angled away from the pools of light cast by the lamps, dodging among the spooked horses as more men hurried out of the central building, most barefoot and only partially dressed, but fully armed.

The ground shook and a black equine body reared up above him, hooves kicking and driving down toward him. There was a hiss and a flash of steel, then a terrible scream that drove the other panicked horses into a frenzy of plunging and kicking. The horse dropped to its front knees as the warrior-priest pulled his blade from its chest, then lifted a head that _wasn't_ a horse's and lashed out with teeth that were receding up toward a set of ears that appeared to be _melting_ down the sides of its head. The warrior-priest's eyes widened, but he dodged the thing's strike and ran, clearing the inner wall of the paddock without breaking stride.

Gunfire chased the invader across the courtyard and up onto the roof of the barracks. The warrior-priest sped over the humped roof, crouched at the last instant, and leaped from the barracks roof to the frame of the massive treadwheel that pulled the river gates open and pushed them closed. He caught hold of a thick iron strut, swung around it once, then let go and somersaulted in midair, landing with a grunt atop the massive wheel. He let out a startled hiss as a bullet dug a furrow across his bicep before rushing onward to strike sparks from the iron mechanism. He paused only an instant, then coiled his body and _jumped._

The men in the courtyard saw a shadow swarm up the massive transmission gears from the top of the treadwheel, then dance across the gate drawbars and throw itself over the razor wire atop the border wall and vanish. In the paddock behind them, a creature that was not a horse gasped and paddled at the ground with hoof-tipped, clubbed hands, and died.

On the far side of the wall, the warrior-priest drew his bloodied sword, wiped it down with his sash, then cut a narrow strip of fabric from his tunic. He tied the makeshift bandage around his bleeding left arm using right hand and teeth, then jogged off into the dark.

Into Ishbal.

**__________**

**Central City, Amestris -- Underground **

**September 4, 1919**

The underground city had sounds of its own. The dripping of water from above, the faint creak of long-dried timbers and the cracking of stone. Human voices echoed strangely among the warped buildings, and the light from the gigantic hole above dimmed and muted above-ground colors until almost everything and everyone working in the ruins resembled a dusty ghost.

It was an effect Fletcher Tringham was well accustomed to. He'd learned to ward off the oppressive silence by humming to himself. He wore bright red work gloves and a matching bandanna under his tough miner's helmet not only to protect his hands and head, but also to remind himself of the sunlit world above. He worked in the pit, exploring the labyrinth of twisted streets and forgotten tunnels, for that world of color and warmth and the smell of fresh greenery.

"Heads up." Fletcher's older brother Russell moved their lantern aside, then crouched and touched the rim of the array he'd just chalked on a slab of broken masonry. The circle flashed to bright-blue life, and the long-dead husk of what was probably a member of the birch family groaned, then reached out with new roots and pulled itself upright. Alchemy drove the plant from fall through winter to spring seed season in under a minute, dropping strangely dark-red winged seedpods before Russell closed the circle. The tree remained standing, but Russell bent over and dropped his hands to his knees, panting a little as he surveyed his handiwork.

"That was a big one." Fletcher brushed the dust from his shirt. "Let me help with the next one, or you'll be exhausted by lunchtime."

"The only way to become a better alchemist is to push your limits," Russell answered, lacing his fingers behind him and and pulling his arms up until his back popped.

"Yes, but--" Fletcher's argument died on his lips as something odd reached his ears. He turned to look behind himself. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I heard something." Fletcher took a few steps deeper into the darkness, then paused as the weak little noise repeated. "There! Did you hear it that time?"

"No-- hey, Fletcher, wait! That's not a stable section!" Russell cast a worried eye at the leaning walls and twisted streets, then snatched up the lantern and ran to catch up with his younger brother.

Fletcher stood beside a building that had once stood well above its neighbors, but now lay almost horizontal, its facade supported by the remains of a-- well, whatever it had been, it was now a solid pile of rubble about eight or ten feet high.

"It's all right. I don't see any fresh cracks or smell anything funny." Fletcher reached above his head, and then jumped and grabbed the sill of what had once been a third-floor window. He pulled himself up to look inside the warped building, then kicked one foot. "Brother, give me a boost! I've found something!"

"Are you crazy?" Russell grabbed Fletcher's booted foot, but instead of pushing up he tugged down. "Get out of there before this whole block collapses on both of us!"

"It's strong enough, trust me." Fletcher kicked. "Give me a _boost_, and I'll hand them down to you."

"Hand me what? Fletcher--"

"Books. And puppies. That's what I heard -- puppies." Fletcher paddled about until Russell finally bent and put his shoulder under the booted foot.

"_Puppies?_ How could there be puppies here?"

"I guess their mother thought this was a safe place to hide them." Fletcher scratched and thumped against the dry walls and floor of the ruined building, then a thin squealing cry preceded the younger Tringham's hand out the window.

Russell took the tiny puppy and stared at it in disbelief. "Right -- a dog climbed more than five hundred feet down into a pit, got into a sideways building, and had a litter of puppies."

"They're here, have you got a better explanation?" Fletcher's face appeared at the window, and he lay down on his chest to offer two more puppies to his brother. "There are at least two more of them in the open crate. Wrap them up in your jacket to keep them warm while I hand you the books."

"If they stain my clothes you're paying the cleaning bill." Russell nonetheless tucked the infant canines into his light jacket, then reached up to take the last three puppies and add them to the wriggling bundle. He set it aside and jumped to grab the windowsill for himself. "What did you say about books?"

"Some of them are a little chewed up. They smell like they're really old. Here." Fletcher pushed a large volume toward his brother's nose.

Russell let go and dropped to the ground, then grabbed the book. He brushed away some dust and mildew, and tilted the book into the light of his headlamp, squinting hard to make out faded lettering on the cover. His eyes widened, and he almost dropped the book in his hurry to open it. "Fletcher, do you know what this is?"

"A big book that's chewed on one corner?"

"It's a volume of the _Peregrinatio Paracelsus,_" Russell said in a tone of combined reverence and excitement. "There are only seven complete sets left in the world, and they're all under lock and key in restricted libraries or private collections." He smoothed a faded yellow page and crouched down beside the lantern to strain his eyes trying to pick out the lettering.

"Paracelsus?" Fletcher lowered himself to look at his brother from an almost upside-down viewpoint. "He's the one who systematized modern alchemy, isn't he?"

"Yeah -- and before he wrote the _Philosophiae e Principia Alchemica_ he traveled the world learning about the alchemical witchcraft of every culture he came across. He wrote down everything -- every rune he saw, every ritual, all the transmutations." Russell gently turned a page and stared at the intricate drawings beside the crabbed, handwritten text, then looked up at his brother. "Are there others like this in there? Maybe the rest of the set?"

"I don't know. There are two big crates full of books, but it's too dark to see what's on the covers." Fletcher put his hands to the windowsill and flipped neatly out and onto his feet. "We should go get some other people to help us get them out of here."

"No!" Russell's voice was sharp as he set the precious book down beside the lantern. "If we do that, we'll get a pat on the back and maybe some fraction of the value of these books as a bonus, but some government stuffed shirt or military bureaucrat will end up getting the credit, and we'll lose our only chance to use what _we_ found."

"We can ask for copies instead of a bonus."

"You think we'd actually get them? _Real_ copies, done by hand so all the cross-codes are clear?" Russell snorted, and jumped to grab the window. "Fat chance. Face it, the only way ordinary people like _us_ are going to get to read this kind of thing -- give me boost -- is to keep it to ourselves until we're done."

Fletcher gave his brother a push. "Look at those crates, Brother. They're way too big for us to move by ourselves. How are we supposed to get the books out and home without someone noticing?"

"We'll think of something." Russell climbed up into the leaning building and crawled toward the crates. "Maybe we'll go out the way the pregnant dog got in."

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris **

**September 5, 1919**

"Hello? Hey guys?"

If one thing could be said about this plan, at least it was convincing. Paninya coughed as another long trickle of grit filtered down through the crossed beams and mixed with the pocket of air that was her new living quarters. Deeply shadowed beneath the weight of the collapsed structure, there wasn't enough light to adequately judge time -- but she estimated that nearly an hour had passed by this point. What she hadn't fully considered, and really she should have known better, was how really uncomfortable she'd become lying in one position with barely five inches of space above her.

Actually, uncomfortable didn't cut it as the sensation rated closer to agonizing. Even positioned on her side, it was still a burden pulling air into her lungs. And what idiot thought it was a good idea to go all authentic and prop a beam across her right leg?

Oh yeah, that had been her.

And she couldn't even fault Winry on it because her friend had tried talking her out of this.

Not to mention a certain stowaway kept trying to kick through her stomach.

"Okay, knock it off!" Wincing, she rubbed at the tender patch of skin where a tiny foot was attempting to make a break for it. She had to admit, she understood. She felt the walls closing in as well -- though hers were far less warm and comforting than the ones enclosing her child.

"It's okay little one, just take it easy." The continuous soothing motion of her hand seemed to help as the activity inside settled once more. She still ached though, and made up her mind that when her rescuers finally decided to find her, she was going to demand someone boil her water for a long soak in the tub. As if actually comprehending her, the tiny person settled down and quit torturing its momma. For now.

There was a shift to her left, and another puff of dirt and material billowed around her, followed quickly by a minor collapse somewhere close. Not really pretendering anymore, Paninya swallowed away the dryness before lifting her head again. "Hey! You better hurry this up! Come on guys!"

Dammit, this was definitely Winry's fault! What had that girl been thinking allowing a pregnant woman to do something this stupid?

And why had _she_ been so stubborn? If-- _No, when. Gotta think positive, girl._ --she made it out of here, she swore she'd listen to Winry and Dominic from now on. "_Hey!!_"

The sudden rumble was the only warning as a roaring slide of rock and wood crashed to the ground -- throwing choking clouds of debris in the air. Twisting to the side, the young woman did her best to block the worst of it with her sleeve, still hacking on the particles that made it through. At the same moment, a stab of pain radiated through her abdomen, bringing a small gasp. Coughing, spitting filth, she groaned as the pain continued to escalate -- tightening along her sides and crushing through her gut as though she'd just been sat on by Armstrong.

This wasn't just an overactive baby. This new pain had been deeper and brought with it an undeniable urgency. And suddenly she knew she had to get out of here _**now!**_

"Winry!! Winry hurry!!"

_***~*~*~*~***_

Winry jumped back as another minor slide tumbled loose material from the collapsed structure. So far the 'rescue' was proceeding more or less as planned, and granted, they'd placed Paninya near the entrance so that if there were any major complications they could get her out quickly -- but that didn't keep her from pacing and fretting and chewing her fingernails. When they got Paninya out of there, Winry swore, she was going to disconnect her automail -- _all of it_ -- and tie her to her bed until that baby was born. How did she manage to win that argument, anyway?

All around her, townfolk mingled with uniformed soldiers, working together to clear the rubble and find the young pregnant girl who had been foolish enough to be wandering around this old, crumbling fortress -- especially in light of the recent earthquakes. Their main concern, though, was just getting her out. The punishment, if there was to be any, could come later. Fortunately, the chatter that buzzed around her held no suspicion of the real story, and those that did know the truth, were keeping silent. The distraction worked. The majority of people in and around Rush Valley were here, and not there and although there was a low murmur about tremors and bright lights within the city, most of the gossip was either outrageous and exaggerated (although probably a lot closer to the truth than anyone would suspect), or non-concern. Everyone was far more interested in the real problem, the girl buried in the collapsed building.

But it wasn't just her buried friend that filled Winry's thoughts.

No matter how many times she looked towards the distant city, she couldn't see anything. With the corners and curves of the mountains around her, there was no way to bring Rush Valley into view. Not unless she were to walk nearly a kilometer through the winding landscape first.

They could already be home.

Heat instantly struck at the back of her eyes along with a jolt of terrified thrill. Ed... Al...

Her wrist rubbed across her eyes before she quickly stepped forward again to shift another rock aside.

And was nearly crushed as an avalanche of material poured down the side of the mound -- directly in her path.

"Look out!" Hands grabbed her and hauled her out of the way just in time, her rescuer turning out to be a young man she'd fitted with an automail leg a year ago. However, there was no time to thank him as the muffled sound of a terrified yell broke through the layer of new rock piled right across the spot where Paninya was trapped.

"Oh no..."

Rushing forward, Winry began frantically digging at the packed rubbish. "Hold on Nee-Nee, we're coming!!" Other hands fell to work beside her, everyone focusing on the same spot -- either because they knew exactly where the young woman had been all along, or had just figured it out from the panicked shouts.

Sharp stones cutting her arms where the edges of her gloves didn't shield her, Winry didn't even slow her progress. Not until a final beam was lifted away to reveal a grimy young woman panting but uninjured in a hollowed out section of earth.

"Get me out of here!"

Starting to smile, Winry paused when Paninya whimpered -- her arm circling her belly. She pointed at her friend in shock. "Oh my god, you're in labor!"

Wiping sweat from her forehead, the other woman glared. "Well are you planning to watch me give birth in the dirt, or can you _**GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!?"**_

**__________**

**The Gate**

"It's got hold of us!" Tom warned.

The little hands retreated, leaving behind a sticky goo over everything and everyone inside. They slapped at the windows, then wrapped themselves around the outside of the battered van, taking hold of the mirror mounts and even the broken grille and windshield wipers as the van lurched and slewed around, throwing Reilly hard against her seat belt. The tiny hands closed and smoothed into a glossy wall, replacing the missing rear doors. The steering wheel jerked hard enough to make Ducky yelp and snatch his hands away as the van's frame groaned under increasing velocity. In the rear-view mirror, Reilly watched Hughes help Ed buckle himself and his brother together in one seat -- even as small as the two boys were, it was still a tight squeeze.

"You too, Hughes. Buckle up." Tom's voice rang strange and loud in this anechoic place.

"Like hell. I got through without a seat belt the first time."

"So don't push your luck again. You've got a wife and daughter waiting for you."

"Yeah -- and I'm not going to let anything get between me and them now. I can stand a few bruises or even broken bones if it gets me home."

"Both of you shut up and share!" Ed snapped. "If Al and I can do it, so can you."

"Sorry Ed, but neither Tom nor I has your skinny little butt," Hughes said. "Besides, the military frowns on that kind of fraternization between officers."

Ed sputtered, and over the building Elric rant, Tom shouted, "Rock-Paper-Scissors! Loser takes the seat!"

"Deal -- but no whining about papercuts!"

Tom lost, and grudgingly buckled himself in. Hughes stiffly folded his larger form on the floor, putting his back against the doghouse, between the two front seats.

The van lurched again, and for a second time, everything went black. This time it was different; Reilly was still aware of her body and the people around her. This was _normal_ darkness -- if anything could be normal in this place. The stressed metal on the van squeaked, and wind blew softly through the bullet holes and the cracks between the crumpled doors and shattered windows. Reilly could hear the breathing of her friends and the frightened thudding of her own heart. Palpable anticipation hung in the air. Every sound seemed heightened, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the soft metallic **click** of an electrical switch. Through the remaining spots on the windshield that weren't covered with goo, the world outside the Ninjavan moved and _grinned_ in the pale glow of the headlights.

A hiss, then another **click.** "Bad idea," Ducky said softly by way of apology.

Reilly didn't argue. The brief glimpse she'd seen of the 'outside' had been more than enough. An entire universe crammed full of shadow-babies with wide purple eyes and feral, _hungry_ grins.

The van hurtled onward, and a pinprick of light grew to a bright white-gold vortex, then they were caught, screaming and tumbling as lightning flickered in the whorl, danced over the metal body of the van, up the steering column and over the dash. Ducky bounced back in an instinctive effort to escape, shaking his left hand, which had been resting on the wheel. Hughes yelled and braced himself with a foot on each rear seat and hands scrabbling until they found a hold on the seat belt mounts. Lightning struck with a roar, thunder deafened them all... then thready smoke wafted up from under the dash, bringing with it the odor of burnt insulation and wiring. The van bounced, then 'fell over' onto its side, sliding fast and drifting slowly up and around the 'top' of the tunnel.

"Whoa!" Ducky stared out the windshield, and Reilly followed his gaze to the hole in the center of the vortex. In the eye of the maelstrom, another storm twisted with dust and smoke and debris. Caught in the pull of the vortex, it blended in with the gold, muddying it, tarnishing the bright splendor of the light. Ducky crowed, then cackled, then shouted over the wind, "See you guys on the other side!"

The words were out of Reilly's mouth before she could stop them, "Let's hope the other side is where we want to be!"

Hughes twisted around, pausing only a moment to meet Reilly's eyes, then strained his neck to look out the front. As the opening in the vortex grew, details became more visible within the smoke and dust, but all Reilly could see were several statues of a muscle-bound bald man reaching up. She startled and stared when Hughes suddenly burst out in manic laughter while tears streamed down his face. "Alex, you son of a bitch, I knew you'd come through!"

Reilly risked turning in her seat to glance over Hughes' head at the Elrics, and saw the light dancing in Edward's eyes as a slow, crazed grin split his face. The expression moderated, but didn't completely disappear when Alphonse began to stir and moan, and again claimed Ed's attention.

Reilly's gaze locked onto Hughes' again. Uncertainty mixed with anticipation and guilt flicked across his face. Reilly shook her head a little, smiling, then closed a hand over his white-knuckled fingers, still locked around the seat belt mount.

"Houston, we have a problem," Ducky said. All eyes turned to the front, and fear immediately replaced excitement.

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris **

**September 5, 1919**

The rumble and the buffeting winds ceased to matter to Roy Mustang as he strained to keep the array's energies under control. The earth heaved again as the man reached still deeper for the power it held, and the energy pounded against the restraint of the array with the insensate fury of a volcano, seeking out the weak spot, the most fragile part of its prison...the alchemist. His body was soft flesh and fragile bone, his life a mere flicker against the power he'd drawn -- yet he held on. The power tore through his trained defenses and surged into his body, making him part of the circle, dissolving him by inches -- but he held. Some fragment of human awareness knew that the torrent was tearing at his soul, shredding _himself_--

--a pale feminine back, bared from the nape of the neck to softly curving buttocks, yet he saw only the intricate dark lines and whorls, the cramped thick lettering, let deep into the young skin--

--a boy clutching a rifle and staring up at him with mindless terror in Ishbalan-red eyes--

--the sky full of flying machines, airships of another world--

--blazing golden eyes and a steel fist shaking in his face--

--spinning and tilting and he was the center, he _had_ to keep it out, hold on just a little longer, while there still was such a thing as a little longer--

The raging heavens broke open overhead and _something_ fell through the hole in the sky, crashing in an explosion of shattered glass and crumpled metal, wedging down between the bald pates of two Armstrong statues. He could let go. He released the power with a gasping shout, and crumpled to his chest amid the fading lines. The Gate above flared and faded away, leaving the open skies of Rush Valley and the distant sounds of sirens.

"Well," Havoc said in the sudden quiet, "I think it worked."


	3. Chapter Two: This Was Not an Encouraging

**Balance of Power **

**Arc Two - Chapter Two**

_**"This Was Not an Encouraging Opening for a Conversation"**_

_"Then Ishballa spoke through his prophets, and told them, 'My people, my foolish children, Ishbal is not lost. Where you pitch your tents, there is Ishbal.'"_ From the Books of the Three Prophets: the Ishbalan Histories, University of Cashel translation.

**Rush Valley, Amestris **

**September 5, 1919 -- 4:42 pm**

The truck bounced and squeaked as it hit another bump, making the girl in the middle of the seat moan and clutch her belly. Winry wiped at the dark, sweaty brow with her bandanna and an automail hand batted her away. "Don't!"

"You've got to stay calm!" Winry forced her voice down from a high staccato and tried to infuse her words with soothing reassurance. "Just _breathe_, Paninya."

_"I __**am**__ breathing, dammit!"_

Winry lurched back at the vehement growl in the girl's voice and the almost feral heat in her dark eyes, and would have laughed had they been home already. But they weren't home yet, and Paninya's contractions were coming fast.

Without a word, Dominic pressed harder on the accelerator, and the battered truck rattled faster down the incline toward town. Winry grit her teeth and bit down on a complaint. Dominic had driven this road a million times, she didn't need to tell him to be cautious. She couldn't ask him to speed it up, either -- not unless she wanted him to go from reckless driving to plunging right off the cliffside. Still, she was sure it hadn't taken this long to get _up_ to the old fortress just a few hours ago.

The contraction finally passed and Paninya relaxed, panting. Winry huffed out a gust of air that blew her bangs out of her eyes, and let her shoulders slump in relief. Up ahead was the arched sign that welcomed everyone to Rush Valley. Just a few more blocks and--

The gears on the truck ground as Dominic downshifted, then came to a rolling stop just before the turn down their street. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "Get goin', Princess."

"What?" Winry stammered. "I can't! Paninya--"

"I'll get the midwife when we get home," Dominic interrupted. "She'll be fine."

Winry glanced back in the direction where General Mustang and his men might have already brought the Elrics home, then at the friend who had become like a sister to her; sweaty, panting and trying to hide fear. "But--"

Paninya tensed and whined and clutched her abdomen, then pinned Winry with a determined glare. She ground out, "Don't be stupid. Just--" she whimpered and panted, "--_go_!"

Winry opened the door and slid out of the seat. Before she closed it, however, she leaned in and gave Paninya a quick hug. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

Paninya slapped at Winry's shoulder, shoving her away, and snorted, "Go already! Damn, you're stubborn!"

Winry slammed the truck door closed and slapped at the side. Without looking back, she ran toward the center of town.

Toward Ed and Al.

**__________**

The tar-covered mass, hanging precariously overhead between two stone Armstrongs, teetered a couple of times as an enormous raven landed on it, then became still. The bird danced in agitation, ruffled its feathers, then shook its wings and squawked at the bedraggled party below before flying off to land on the roof of one of the buildings surrounding the alley.

"Major Armstrong," Roy Mustang rasped as he attempted to get to his feet. The world grayed and faded toward black, and he felt two pairs of strong hands help him up and practically carry him away from the array. He felt a solid presence at his back and gratefully slid down the wall until his rear found the ground.

"Sir," Armstrong said, once Roy was safely out of the way. Without further encouragement, Strong Arm flexed, clenched his fist, and slammed spike-covered knuckles into the ground near the two statues. Lightning snaked and crackled up the stone monoliths and gradually disintegrated them, bringing the object gently down to solid ground.

A few slow, deep breaths later, and Roy's fog began to clear. Hawkeye's concerned gaze swam into view. "Stay put, sir," she said as she rose and turned toward the activity within the array.

"No problem."

Hawkeye halted in mid-rise and shot a startled glance back at Roy, but before she could say anything he waved her away. "Your priority is over there, Captain. I'll be fine."

_It's not necessarily them,_ the soldier in Roy said firmly as he sucked in gusts of the dust-laden air and felt his body starting to tremble as the adrenaline of the transmutation wore off. _There's no guarantee._ His last encounter with the Elrics flashed through his mind and for a moment the airship, as Fullmetal vanished inside, blazed clearer to Roy's eye than the crumpled metal thing in the center of the dead array. His body moved of its own accord, finding renewed balance on shaky feet, and Roy bit back the urge to call the memory-Edward back.

Struggling to stay on his feet and in the present, Roy turned his attention to the unassuming mass in front of him. It was a transport of some sort -- covered in the same black, tarry patches he remembered on the airship, filming the windows to hide any detail of who or what was moving inside. Roy flexed his fingers and waited for any sign of a shimmering purple array, but none came. Not that he wanted to risk any more alchemy right now. Not with his vision fuzzing and exhaustion threatening to drop him in his tracks. At least Riza and Jean had the presence of mind to pull their weapons without waiting for him to recover and take command.

Roy wondered how long he should give it before checking out the vehicle himself, but then a muffled _**bang**_ echoed off the walls around them. Fingers tightened on triggers, gun barrels lined up more true to the target, and Roy dizzily set the tip of his thumb against the striking pad along the inside of his second finger. Three more bangs followed the first in quick succession, then the object groaned and settled closer to the ground. Roy's unease ebbed as he realized that the tires had blown. A moment later a muted _pop-hiss_ sounded from within and the cracked and crazed window on the passenger side became white with the expanding of an aggressive balloon that immediately deflated at the sound of a startled squawk. The situation only grew more bizarre when an insane cackle erupted from inside, interrupted by a second pop.

As of yet, there had been no overt threat, but Roy's back and arms were starting to cramp with the tension. There was still no sign or sound of Fullmetal... or Alphonse. Not willing to wait any longer, Roy took one wobbly step forward, then froze when he heard the scream of twisted hinges giving up as the passenger door fell to the ground with a resounding clatter. A woman fought with the deflated white balloon and the straps securing her to the seat. Once free, she swung sturdy legs out through the opening... and fell drunkenly onto the door. She lost her balance as it see-sawed and pitched her over onto the cobblestone, then staggered to her feet as a commotion started inside the vehicle. Tilting her head and furrowing her brow, she stared around her like a tourist who'd made a wrong turn and found herself on the _wrong_ end of town. Her dazed expression barely twitched as her gaze landed on Armstrong and traveled _up_, then dropped to look at Havoc and Hawkeye -- still pointing their guns at her -- and there was a measurable moment before she comprehended that she was the target. She gasped, lurched back, and locked onto Roy's gaze, taking in his gloved hand stretched toward her -- and hesitantly offered her empty hands.

A faint clap cut through the ruckus, and the light of a transmutation filtered through the grimy windows. A section of the transport's side flowed away, replaced by two metal and glass columns adorned with tiny skulls and gargoyles.

_"Dammit, Ed!"_ a voice erupted from inside. _"Don't go desecrating my van like that!"_

_"It was wrecked already,"_ an impatient, slightly irritated and blessedly familiar voice answered. An equally recognizable profile emerged from the shadowed interior as the voice continued to address his companion, "We need to make sure we weren't se--" the Fullmetal Alchemist himself turned his attention outward and noticed the armed people for the first time. He grabbed the woman's arm and all but threw her back in between the columns, then he clapped and formed the outer arm plate of his automail into a short blade, crouching into a defensive stance in front of the van. His eyes flicked from one threat to the next... then recognition dawned and he relaxed, straightening up and restoring his automail to normal.

"What is it, brother? Are we home?" Another head peeked out from behind the woman, and Alphonse broke into an impossibly huge grin. "General Mustang!"

Al scrambled to get out of the van, climbing over whoever else was still inside, and tripped, nearly tumbling face-first into the cobblestones as he stepped out. The woman snagged his shirt before he could fall and Ed got his arm around his brother an instant later.

"Idiot," Ed chided gently, "you just woke up. Take it easy, will ya?"

"But we're here! It worked, didn't it?"

Ed stood up fully, steadying Al with an arm around his shoulders. The brothers glanced over Roy's direction. "I don't know," Ed said, "Did it work?"

Roy lowered his hand as he exhaled one interminable breath. Finding his voice he countered, "You're the one who treats the Gate like a revolving door, Fullmetal. Why don't you tell me?"

_**~*~*~*~*~**_

"No point in waiting," Tom murmured, resting a hand briefly on Maes' shoulder before following Ed and Al out of the van.

Maes pulled himself up into the boys' abandoned seat with a wince and stared blankly ahead. After running so hard and for so long, the abrupt end to their journey had him reeling. Yet despite the overwhelming disorientation, there was something else grounding him to the seat, guiding his next breath. He could feel it in every aching joint. He was _home_.

Ducky punched down his blown airbag and turned around in his seat, a troubled expression wrinkling his forehead. In a moment of dazed recognition Maes noticed their eyes were the same shade of green.

"I know everything kinda came out the wrong way back there..." Ducky began. "I promise I'll explain the whole story to you later," his attention flashed briefly to what was unfolding outside. "_We'll_ tell you everything."

"I'm look forward to hearing it," Maes replied hoarsely.

Ducky nodded and shoved open his door, muttering one last expletive under his breath as he exited, "Assuming we don't get attacked by some rogue Cylon in about five seconds."

Maes could hear Al stalling, "Umm, we didn't quite work out an 'after' plan, did we?"

"Yeah, this might be a problem," Ed answered.

"After crash landing in the middle of downtown Rush Valley during a freak earthquake, I don't know what else could constitute a problem." Maes nearly stopped breathing at the sound of the baritone voice laced with achingly familiar wit and condescension that had been just one more fading memory. "Is this everyone?" Roy continued. Maes leaned over just enough to catch his best friend take a step closer. Ed and Al visibly flinched and moved ever so subtly as if to guard the van. To guard _him._

Behind Roy, Armstrong also stepped forward and spoke up with a solemn, "Sir."

"Wait," Ed added.

"What?" Roy asked, his annoyance rising to the surface.

Maes took a deep breath, steeled himself, then stepped from the van and stood silently behind the group that had inadvertently made him the center of attention. He scanned the faces briefly. Alex, face wet with tears, his enormous body nearly vibrating as he restrained himself from crushing Maes in what he was certain would be a back-breaking hug. Shock and disbelief on Riza and Jean, as their guns hung loosely down at their sides. Then he met Roy's eyes. Eye. Alphonse had told him about the catastrophic injury, and he'd thought he was prepared to see it in the flesh. He wasn't. Nor was he ready to see how much Roy had _aged._ It wasn't immediately obvious -- there were no gray hairs or deep crow's feet -- but the confident Mustang charisma, the cocky humor that had won over his troops and his women alike was gone, peeled away, perhaps, by Maes' "death", and the turmoil that followed. Turmoil that had cost Roy Mustang more than his left eye.

Roy's remaining eye widened ever so briefly, the color drained from his face, and he blinked once, twice, then...

"Well, shit," Ed summarized beside him.

"Language, Fullmetal," Roy barked a split second before everyone else tried to weigh in on the situation.

"General--"

"Mustang--"

"Sir--"

"Roy--"

Roy held up a gloved hand and they fell silent. Maes felt his heart drop to his toes as the light faded from Roy's eye and his expression turned completely sterile. Squaring his shoulders with a wince, Roy crossed the remaining space between them, each step adding a new layer of unreadable stillness, distancing himself so by the time he stood arm's length away, Maes might as well have been back in Oklahoma.

"On behalf of the military," Roy began with a deep bow, "I'd like to welcome you to Amestris. As I'm sure you're aware, your arrival here is going to cause quite a stir, and considering this one is involved," he nodded at Ed, "there's bound to be one hell of a story." Though Roy had been addressing their entire group, he'd been focused on Maes -- his face impassive and body strictly controlled.

The faces turned toward Mustang shaded through various levels of disbelief, confusion, and uncertainty. Whatever they'd been expecting from Roy, Maes concluded, he hadn't delivered.

"Idiot!" Ed exclaimed, unable to hold his bewilderment any longer. "Mustang, _don't you know who this is?"_

Ed's question brought a haunted pain to Roy's gaze, one Maes had seen before, when Roy had returned from Ishbal. "From what you told me at our last meeting," Roy replied, even that slice of emotion vanishing in the space of a breath, "my guess is that he," Roy gestured to Maes without emotion, "is 'the other' Hughes."

"Other... Hughes?" Maes shot a surprised look at the Elrics. They stared back at him, thunderstruck. His next questioning glance was at Armstrong. "You didn't _tell_ him?"

"No," Armstrong replied.

Roy turned slightly so he could see Armstrong as well. "'Tell him' what?"

Ed groaned and put his face in his automail hand.

"General," Al offered uncertainly as new realization dawned on both boys, "he's _our_ Hughes."

"Here we go," Havoc muttered, holstering his gun and taking a step towards his boss.

"What?"

_"Edward!"_ Everyone stiffened at the sound of a new voice. There was a certain authority to the exclamation, though it sounded too far from their circle to possibly see the group.

_"Ed! Al!"_ the voice called again in blind greeting, moments before a figure squeezed through the ring of stone Armstrongs and charged the brothers in a rush of dusty overalls and flying blond hair.

Winry Rockbell slowed to a stop just before breaking into the small group by the van, her eyes darting quickly from one face to the next. Her gaze landed on Maes and remained, eyes growing wider until her face crumpled, and Maes soon found his arms full as she launched herself at him.

"Mr. Hughes," she cried into his chest, "you're supposed to be dead!"

Stunned at the unexpectedly warm welcome, Maes could do little more than embrace the girl in return and pat her on the back. Al enthusiastically wrapped his arms as far as he could around both Hughes and Winry, then two hands reached back simultaneously -- one bare and dusty and finely muscled, the other fair and smaller -- and snagged Edward by the front of his shirt, startling a squeak out of him and yanking him into the group embrace.

_**~*~*~*~*~**_

Riza flinched as Roy stiffened at Winry's reaction. She hesitated when he whirled and stalked away from the group, knowing he needed a moment to collect himself. She felt like she could use a solid month. She settled for holstering her gun. Behind her, Riza heard Jean mutter softly, "Armstrong, you are in deep shit."

Unfortunately Jean wasn't quiet enough and Roy heard it, too. He rounded on them, eye blazing with a fire every bit as dangerous as the alchemical flames he could summon at will. Roy's left hand trembled at his side, twitching fingers alternating between fist and snap. His jaw worked at a tense grind after each of several false attempts at speech, a rarely displayed show of unguarded fury that made Riza's hair stand on end. Roy Mustang hadn't been this upset in years.

He finally settled for biting down on the tips of two fingers and yanking the glove off with his teeth. He thrust the freed glove roughly into Riza's unsuspecting hands, and she fumbled to keep from dropping it. Without missing a beat, Roy dug into his pocket for the matching glove, tossing it her direction.

"Easy, Must--"

"Why the hell are you so calm?" Roy's eye narrowed as he cut Jean off. "How long have you _known_?" He turned away before Jean could answer, his eye sliding over Armstrong like he wasn't even there, until his gaze rested, injured and pleading, on Riza. "Tell me you had nothing to do with this."

Stunned into silence by the accusation, Riza found herself blinking back unexpected tears. Her lips parted slightly in a loose 'o'.

"Of course she didn't know," Jean interjected. "I only put it together from your half-crazed ramblings back at the Rockbells' place." He took a step forward when it looked like Roy was going to press Riza further. "Dammit, Mustang, you're supposed to be smart. Figure it out." He squared his shoulders and all but dared Mustang to start a fight.

Roy closed his eye and clenched his fists, then moved resolutely towards the edge of the circle once more. Jean went to follow but Mustang cut him off with a slash of his hand.

"Help get them to Miss Rockbell's," he ordered coldly. His gaze fell to Armstrong long enough to make it plain that he expected the other alchemist to obey the command. "Make sure they're not seen."

Then he was weaving through the stone statues, his brisk pace propelling him swiftly towards the main road. Riza hardly had time to process the fact that, as she stayed just a step behind, he didn't make her leave him, too.

Not that she would have left him alone in this state. Nor would it have been a good idea. Mustang made it all of two blocks before shock and alchemical exhaustion caught up with him, and he crumpled in the street.

**__________**

**September 5, 1919 -- 10:12 pm**

Jean Havoc had seen a lot of strange shit. Working for alchemists taught a guy to forget the word "impossible" and just work with the situation that presented itself. Trusting his senses and his gut had kept him not only alive but pretty close to sane despite serial killers, homunculi, interdimensional invasions, and the deranged logic of State Alchemists. The scene in front of him at the moment, however, made him consider pinching himself to see whether or not he was dreaming. He _had_ to be dreaming.

Riza Hawkeye, who could intimidate a tank division with a glance, dress down her State Alchemist commanding officer without raising her voice, and was rumored to threaten her hair with a gun before pinning it up for the day, half-lay, half-sprawled in a chair beside Roy Mustang's bed. Her head was propped on her right arm, and the left hung loosely. Some of her hair had escaped its plain clip and tumbled down into her exhausted face... _Whaddya know, she really is a woman._ Jean grinned to himself, then contained the humor, and crossed the room to set his coffee on the nightstand, then put a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder and shake a little. "Hey. Wake up and go find a place--" he jerked away and raised both hands as the Captain's automatic lined up with a spot right between his eyes "--to stretch out?"

Dark-circled eyes blinked, and Hawkeye lowered her gun and holstered it. "Sorry, Jean."

"I'd hate to be your alarm clock." Jean relaxed. "Go get some sleep, I'll keep an eye on him for a few hours."

"You haven't had any more rest than I have."

"No, but I've had more coffee. He probably won't wake up until sometime after breakfast anyway."

Hawkeye visibly wavered, then gently pressed her hand on top of Mustang's for a moment and got to her feet. "Thank you. Wake me up when you need a break."

"Will do." Jean mentally crossed his fingers, then moved the chair a few inches away from the wall and rocked back in it to wait.

The floor squeaked what felt like only a few minutes later, and Havoc's eyes popped back open. He let the chair drop back to the floor with a thump as someone pushed the door open.

Maes Hughes held up a hand and all but fell into the chair just inside the door. "Only me, no need to sound the alarm."

"Can't sleep, huh?" Jean eyed the man, feeling a weird prickling along his spine. He'd seen Hughes' blood pooled in a cordoned-off phone booth. He'd been one of the riflemen who fired the salute at his funeral. Then he'd spent months covering for his commanding officer's mistakes and absences while he grieved. Now Maes Hughes, a little older but definitely not a ghost, sat no more than ten feet away. It buried the needle even on Jean Havoc's high-capacity strange-shit meter.

"Crazy as it might sound, no." Hughes rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. "I'll probably fall asleep in my food in the morning."

"You won't be the only one." Jean arched his back and yawned, deliberately casual, then tipped his chair back again, keeping his eyes on Hughes. "It was one of those days."

"I hear you've been having a lot of 'those days' lately."

"You could say that." Jean started to add a comment about chasing down his own commanding officer, then cut it off and _looked_ at the man sitting in the chair across from him. The intelligence officer, who had literally just returned from another world...

Hughes' face fell, just a little, and he turned his eyes toward the general. "Alex tells me the government's changed, but the military hasn't."

"Not so you can tell," Jean shrugged.

"Barely at all," another voice rasped. General Mustang sat up and turned an eye hard as obsidian on his long-lost friend. "For instance, new recruits still swear an oath of loyalty the day they start training."

Jean grimaced and let his chair drop to all fours again, wordlessly reminding Mustang of his presence.

Hughes flinched. "Roy." He dropped his gaze to the floor, then folded his hands between his knees. "Will you at least hear me out?"

"Armstrong explained your reasoning to me." The words sliced the air like frozen daggers, and Jean tried to shift back toward the wall and away from his CO.

"Then you know why I didn't dare risk contacting you, or even my wife. The stakes were too high."

"_'Too high?'"_ Mustang's tightly-controlled voice crackled in disbelief and disgust. "It's when the stakes are highest that a man goes to his friends and asks their _help_. He doesn't fake his death and abandon his wife and child to play cat-and-mouse games with a madman."

That hit so hard even Jean's heart stung, and he shot Mustang a hard look -- but he was on the general's blind side and the man didn't notice. Mustang wasn't playing fair... but then again, Hughes wasn't making a whole lot of sense, either.

"Dammit Roy, you think I _wanted_ Elysia to grow up without a father?" Hughes' voice rose to a near-shout. "Do you honestly believe I wouldn't have sent my wife enough letters to wallpaper the house, if there'd been a way to do it without risking a civil war? _They were planning wars to turn lives into Philosopher's Stones!"_

"Fortunately for the people of Amestris, you weren't the only one who figured that out." Mustang's tone all but vibrated with tightly-leashed fury.

"OK, so I made a mistake! I was wrong and I've been living in hell for four years! What else do you _want?_"

"He's right, boss. Arguing about the past won't--" Jean started. Mustang cut him off with a sharp slash of his left hand, and Jean's eyes narrowed as he bit back the rest of the sentence.

Mustang's face might have been carved of stone for all the softness in it. "I buried and avenged Maes Hughes years ago."

Hughes got to his feet, opened his mouth, then shut it and left.

Jean waited until Mustang's jaw relaxed a fraction, then said, "My dad's brother ran off, sometime before I was born. He couldn't stand my grandfather treating him like an idiot. The family hasn't heard from him in forty years."

"Make your point, Havoc."

Jean Havoc met Mustang's glare with one of his own. "The point, _Sir,_ is that I wouldn't treat a dog that ran off and came back the way you just treated your best friend." He got up, letting the chair rattle on the floor. "If my uncle shows up tomorrow, my dad'll punch him once in the face and then get the whole family together to welcome him home." He picked up his long-cold coffee mug and headed for the door. "Get some sleep, General." He shut the door behind himself and went to find an unoccupied piece of floor to stretch out on.

**__________**

**September 6, 1919 -- 3:27am**

Most of the people in Dominick's house and shop were asleep, recovering from a day that had started strange and ended off the far end of plausibility. There were, however, a few people awake and moving.

Roy Mustang, for one, was wide awake. He leaned his left hip against the counter in the darkened kitchen, staring through the window over the sink at the clear night and nearly full moon, and sipped at a glass of water. He wasn't really thirsty; it was an excuse to remain in the kitchen instead of going back upstairs to bed. He could still hear the girl, Paninya's, pained cries and shouts as her labor intensified. Hints of the evening's meal tickled his nose and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since early the previous morning, but his stomach turned at the thought of food.

From the dining room, Roy could hear faint chirps and beeps and muttered cursing from one of the strangers who'd arrived with Edward and Alphonse today. He'd have to meet them and examine the chirping things later, but he was in no mood to try and acquaint himself with strange technology and even stranger people. What little he knew of their world struck him as bizarre and repellent at best. Hawkeye had come in some time after Havoc left, and tried to give him a brief report, but much of what she'd learned from the strangers and the Elrics sounded... worse than insane.

The chirping things were _computers._ Machines that were supposed to do calculations at dizzying speeds, store information in inexplicable ways and display it on colorful screens on command. Hawkeye had assured him they weren't weapons; although what they did, besides make noise and create frustration among the people who'd brought them, wasn't clear. She had wisely chosen to keep strictly to business, but he could see it in her eyes -- the promise of an eventual dressing-down that would be worse than the backlash of one of his own fireballs.

Later.

A floorboard creaked under someone's weight, and Mustang snapped around. The figure silhouetted in the kitchen doorway stopped and held his palms open at his side. "Didn't mean to startle you, General," the man said.

One of the strangers -- the older man. Roy didn't recall the name, though Hawkeye had probably supplied it in her briefing. He relaxed and nodded, inviting the man into the kitchen. He could hear the soft, careful steps across the tile, but the man melted into the shadows. A moment later he reappeared in the weak light of the moon streaming through the window. Silver hair pulled back into a ponytail, craggy face, and sharp light eyes that assessed Roy in an instant. Combined with his caution and quiet steps, the general knew what he was dealing with. "You were a soldier," he murmured.

The older man showed no surprise, but then, Roy didn't expect him to. Soldiers who'd seen actual battle knew what that particular alert calm meant. Instead, the man held out a hand. "There wasn't much time for formalities earlier, General. I'm Tom Mears. Sergeant, Special Forces Airborne out of Laos. Retired, though."

Roy took the offered hand and shook it briefly. "Brigadier General Roy Mustang... and as far as I know I'm still active status." He quirked a slight smile, and added, "Hopefully."

Tom's brows shot up. "AWOL?"

Roy shook his head. "Not exactly."

A long, guttural growl that grew to a roar, rattled through the building, and both men turned toward the sound. Then Tom huffed softly and knelt down, opening a low cabinet door. "Sounds like she's about finished, there." Roy could hear him shuffling items around, feeling for something. Then a triumphant, "Ah!" and Tom rose. A silver flask glittered in the moonlight like a hard-won treasure in the older man's hand. "Dominic gave me a tip on where he kept his stash." He opened the flask and took a quick swig, then wiped the mouth off and offered it to Roy. "I get the feeling that the girls don't approve."

Roy took a drink, then said, "I suppose not."

The younger man in the dining room greeted someone, and Roy stiffened when a familiar voice responded. He started to return the flask, ready to make a strategic retreat, but the older man held up a hand to stop him. Observant eyes read Roy's body, and a sharp mind guessed more than Mustang was comfortable with, but there was no scolding in his face or his tone. "Keep it. You need it more than I do." He nodded toward the back door, and said, "There's a pretty nice garden on the roof. It's a lot quieter up there, General."

With a nod, Roy left Tom to cover for him, and he made his escape.

_**~*~*~*~*~**_

The night was crisp and clear. The city was asleep and blessedly quiet. The gravel path glowed a faint silver in the moonlight and crunched softly as Roy strolled past the raised vegetable beds, low hedges, and flowering bushes that were shedding their final blooms of the season. He ignored the round, concrete table and scattered chairs that surrounded the burbling fountain dominating the center of the rooftop garden, and leaned on the one wall that wasn't covered in greenery. It offered an unencumbered view of the cliffs that surrounded Rush Valley. Dominic's place sat at a higher elevation than most of the city, and from here, Roy could pick out the densely packed buildings that surrounded the wide market pavilion.

During the day, the market would be alive with vendors hawking their wares -- whether it be jewelry, tools, food, or automail -- and in the evening, the lights surrounding each of the booths would give the place a carnival-like atmosphere. But at this time of night, the pavilions were empty; the booths abandoned and the canvases tied down and closed. The only illumination came from the moon and the streetlamps that cast puddles of wan light into the quiet streets.

One corner of the plaza looked even more desolate; roped off and littered with rubble. The very spot where Ed and Al had emerged from the Gate. Given Fullmetal's reputation, mysterious disappearance, and long absence, the place would probably become a tourist attraction -- complete with souvenir postcards and snowglobes -- if word leaked out and someone made the right connections. Part of Hawkeye's report mentioned that Lieutenant Armstrong had smoothed things over with the local authorities, and planned to clean up the mess in the morning. But even the Strong Arm Alchemist was wiped out from the day's events... and the high emotion that came with it.

Roy unscrewed the cap from the flask, took a swallow, then turned his back to the wall, leaning against it with a sigh.

He tensed as one of the shadows in the center of the garden shifted -- peeling itself from the top of the table to sit up in a move disturbingly reminiscent of a nearly-dead man rising from among the bodies of the fallen.

"Shit. Even in the middle of the night a guy can't get a minute to think." The words sounded more tired and rueful than angry.

Roy blew out a relieved breath. "Edward. I didn't know you were up here."

"That was sort of the idea." The form shifted and Roy heard gravel crunch as Ed hopped off the table and strode toward him.

Free of the darkness cast by the surrounding hedges, Roy was again struck at how _different_ the boy seemed. No-- not a boy. Roy kept thinking of Edward Elric as a child, when he was anything but. He'd seen the maturity in Fullmetal when he'd made the decision to return to the other side of the Gate after the invasion, but Roy's mind hadn't really acknowledged it. He hadn't had time to get to know the man the foul-mouthed, temperamental brat -- _the brilliant, maimed child so desperate to correct his mistakes_ -- had become. Edward Elric had given Roy Mustang a lot of headaches over the years, but when he vanished, leaving behind an amnesiac little brother who had no answers for Roy's questions, that was heartache. Logically, he'd known that the odds of his ever seeing Edward or Alphonse after that last battle were vanishingly small. His final glimpse -- of Ed walking into that airship, and out of Roy's world -- hadn't faded. He had kept Falman on the case, chasing down even the slightest of hints for almost five years. His last ember of stubborn denial of facts had begun to flicker, and then... well. Here he was. A grin pulled and tightened Roy's cheeks almost painfully, but he didn't try to temper it. "Welcome home."

Ed hesitated, then ducked his head, hiding behind blond bangs -- but not before Roy saw the embarrassed smile twitch at the corners of his lips. "Yeah." He recovered in an instant; a familiar spark in his gold eyes as he closed the gap between them and snatched the flask from Roy's hand. "If you'd said that when we first got here," he said, as he twisted open the flask, "I would've known we were in the wrong place." Ed took a quick swig, grimaced and made a disgusted noise as he shoved the bottle back at Roy. "For some reason, I figured you to be a good whiskey kinda guy. Not this... crap."

Roy chuckled and wiped off the mouth of the flask. "Courtesy of Dominic," he said as he held it up, then took a swallow and winced. "I generally don't carry my own stash when I'm running around the country chasing down wayward alchemists."

A comfortable silence fell between them, as they shared the flask and stared up at the night sky. Finally, Ed broke the quiet with a soft, "They're the same, you know." He waved a hand at the sky. "The stars."

"What was it like, there?"

Ed chuckled. "Everyone is fucking insane."

"Coming from you that's a frightening statement." Roy relaxed against the low wall with an amused huff at the irony. "What about your friends?"

"They're all right," Ed said, as he lifted himself up to sit on the wall. "Really. A little hard to understand, sometimes." His face tilted up and softened in the moonlight, and he actually smiled. "But they helped me find Al and get us all back here."

Roy didn't miss the slight emphasis on 'all' and tensed, waiting for the barb and the inevitable confrontation. Instead, something dark narrowed Ed's eyes and tightened his face for a moment -- then it disappeared in a blink. The rules of the game changed in that flick of Ed's eyelashes. This was no longer a debriefing under the guise of catching up; there was a layer hidden beneath the easy banter. Mustang adjusted his tactics and asked casually, "The two of you were separated? How?"

Ed shook his head. "We were thrown through the Gate about a year after we left. Somehow, we came out over a hundred miles away from each other. Reilly... the woman?" At Roy's nod, Ed continued, "I landed on her property during a thunderstorm. She and Tom -- that's the old guy -- kept me from drowning..." Ed hesitated and shot a sideways, warning glare at Roy. "Yes, in a puddle. I was unconscious, before you make any smart-assed remarks... and it was a deep puddle."

Roy feigned innocence. "What makes you think I was going to say anything?"

"Because you _never_ missed a chance to piss me off."

"You were too easy, Edward."

Ed scowled at Roy, but there was no heat in the look. Then Ed lowered his eyes and relaxed. He conceded the first battle before it began. Gazing down at the gravel below his dangling feet, Ed said, "You're an arrogant jerk, you know that? But... " He snorted softly. "Even on the other side of the Gate, I could hear your pompous voice giving me orders." Then, so quietly, Roy had to strain to hear him, Ed added, "I'd sometimes wish that I could actually talk to you."

Roy said nothing for a long time. Several sarcastic remarks flitted through his mind, but this wasn't a moment for teasing. Ed had just _willingly_ made a confession Roy would have wagered good money on _never_ hearing. Still, there had been that flicker of pain in his face, and Roy doubted direct questions would get him the answers he wanted. Getting inside Edward Elric's guard required finesse -- because no one could force it through strength or alchemy. Gently, Roy asked, "Was it that bad?"

Ed's swinging feet stilled, and he studied Roy's face for a long moment. Then his face relaxed into a melancholy smile and he stared up at the night sky once more. "Sometimes. Technology advanced there, instead of alchemy, and they often used it to find better ways to kill people." Ed's smile brightened only minimally as he faced Roy again. "But they found a lot of good ways to use it, too. Medicine, communication, even entertainment." He smirked, "Although there was a pretty convincing argument that TeeVee was at least as destructive as any of their weapons."

"TeeVee?"

"It's like a mutated cross between going to the cinema and radio. A box with a screen that you could watch shows on all the time, or play games. Everyone seemed to have one." Ed snorted derisively. "Most of it was stupid shit."

"'Most of it'? Then not all of it?"

"Some of it was informative, yeah." The darkness returned to Ed's eyes, and stayed. "There was a channel that was dedicated to history..." he trailed off and stared into the shadows on the roof. Hands tightened on the lip of the wall he sat on, and his back tensed. A frown pulled Ed's lips down, and he barely breathed as he fought with whatever painful memories roiled within him.

Roy let the silence stretch between them, while he watched Ed decide how much to tell him.

"TeeVee helped me get caught up," Ed finally said, distantly. "After Al and I were thrown over eighty years into the future."

"Were you able to find out anything about the people you'd known?"

Ed's tightening back and shoulders told Roy he'd come very close to that hidden pain, and he was taken aback at the tremor in the younger man's lips and the rapid blinking of suddenly moist eyes. Ed dropped his head, hiding behind his long bangs. Roy laid his hand gently on Ed's shoulder and felt tightly controlled grief vibrate under his palm. "Who was it, Edward?" he asked softly.

Ed snorted softly and shook his shoulder, wriggling out from under Roy's hand. That, at least, hadn't changed. Edward Elric almost never accepted touch from anyone but Al. "There was a war a few years after Al and I left," he said in a near monotone. "People who worshiped the wrong god, or couldn't walk -- they don't have automail there -- or even just people who said the wrong thing to the wrong people... were rounded up and put in camps. Worse than the refugee camps after Ishbal." He whispered through gritted teeth, "The Nazis performed medical experiments on some of them. They enslaved them, tortured them, starved them and used carbon monoxide to kill them. Six m-- million people." He gazed up into Roy's face with an expression of open despair. "They had the technology and they used it to make killing an _industry_. They looked for the most _efficient_ ways to slaughter whoever they didn't want living in their world." Ed huddled into his jacket, though it wasn't particularly cold. "Then after they were dead their bodies were shoved into ovens and burned. Sometimes the bastards didn't even wait for them to die before burning them." He shuddered. "Six _million._ That's the official count, and that's just the camps. There were a lot more dead. That world kills by the millions. It's like-- like they're machines themselves, and they don't care."

Roy's blood ran cold. War, in his own experience, was a hideous reminder of the cruelties that humans could inflict upon one another, so the torture, the 'ovens' -- even the medical experiments -- didn't horrify him as much as they did Edward. It was the _numbers_. The wholesale slaughter of the Ishballans hadn't come anywhere close to what Ed described.

Ed's body tightened more and the trembling increased as he struggled in silence a moment. "Th-- the other Hughes and Gracia were arrested because they'd sheltered Noa, a... gypsy. And her son." Ed choked on a sob. "M-- my s-- son."

"Your..." Roy's eye stung and he gripped Ed's shoulder again as he blinked back sudden tears. His own voice was thick, as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Edward." The words felt inadequate, but anything else would be trite.

Ed didn't shake off Roy's hand, this time. He wiped at his face with the back of his left hand, then clamped that hand over his eyes and sobbed openly. "I-- I didn't know she was pregnant. H-- he should hate me. I abandoned them... left them to suffer that... that _hell_ alone, but he doesn't hate me."

Roy became very still. Whether due to the overwhelming events of the day, the exhaustion, or the alcohol, it took him a moment longer to comprehend what he'd just heard. "He _doesn't_? Ed... your son is still _alive_?"

Ed's head snapped up, and for a brief moment, he looked trapped, but something shifted and it was gone in a blink. Somber trust and a shockingly mature respect weighed Roy, not as a commanding officer or an alchemist, but as a man and a friend. Ed made his decision and nodded. "Maes... my son, escaped the camps... with the help of that world's Hughes. He falsified the records and faked his death." A tearful smile twitched at the corner of his lips, as he added, "I _did_ get to see him. Just before we jumped. But it was only for a few hours."

"And these friends of yours, the ones who came through the Gate with you," Roy asked, "They took you and Al to see him?"

Ed jumped off the wall and took a few steps away from Roy, turning away from him and wrapping his arms around himself. "Al didn't get to meet him," he said quietly. "It was just me... me and Ducky."

Intuition flashed, and Roy _understood._ 'Back here', not 'home', Ed had said. He stared at the young man's back, silent. What could he say? It was hard to believe; Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, legendary for his genius, his short temper, and his compassion... had a son who'd survived hell. Probably through sheer luck and stubbornness, if he was anything like his father. What would it be like, to meet a son older than he was? How far did the Elric legacy spread? How many generations, born and raised in that insane world?

The reasons Ed had chosen to cross the Gate, instead of remaining on that side... with his son -- his _family_ -- Roy's blood chilled some more. What could drive Fullmetal to face the Gate again... Roy caught a startled gasp as another flash of intuition struck. Then he turned on his heel, crossed the roof and padded down the stairs. He felt more than heard Ed on his heels as he slipped through the kitchen, down a short hall, and ended at the doorway to the dining room. A young man was slumped over the table, his head resting on folded arms in front of the computer. His long, dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that fanned out over his face and fluttered with each soft breath. The glow of the computer's shifting light traced Ducky's features in sharp, pale relief -- and it was there. Roy just stared, eye following the shape of the nose, the breadth of the jaw. Edward. The Elric blood was there -- one just had to think to look for it. Edward, only a shadow beyond the glow of the computer, glided up behind him, and Roy whispered, "He's yours, isn't he?"

Ed slipped silently by and came up behind Ducky, the light reaching up to stroke his sharper-edged face. He reached over the young man's shoulder, and moved his finger over the wide part of the computer's base, near what looked like typewriter keys, then tapped. A moment later, the light coming from the alien technology went dark, and Ed softly closed the lid.

Roy only noticed the actions peripherally. What dominated his attention was Edward's left hand, resting gently on Ducky's back, between his shoulder blades -- protectively and comfortingly. When Ducky stirred and woke up with a sharp intake of breath, Ed murmured in a soft comforting thrum, "It's just me. You should go lay down, dumb-ass."

Ducky rubbed his eyes, and when he grinned at Ed, Roy saw the Elric legacy bright and clear. "Right. You need to get to bed too... Gramps." Ed didn't react, but when Ducky stood stiffly and started to stretch, he turned to see Roy at the door and froze, turning bright red. "Uh..."

Ed came up beside the young man and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

Ducky blinked, fully awake now, and snapped around to stare gape-jawed at Ed, while he pointed at Roy. "You... you _told_ him?"

Ed rubbed the back of his neck and grinned, ruefully. "Not... exactly."

Ducky faced Roy, staring in awe. "Whoa. You _are_ good. What do you do? Like... read minds or something?"

Ed's scowl was hardly serious, as he smacked Ducky hard enough against the back of his head to make him stumble a step, and said, "Get to bed. Idiot."

Ducky chuckled as he shuffled past Roy, leaving the two of them alone once again.

Roy didn't move. He just watched Ed, watching him warily. Finally, Roy cracked a grin, and said, "Gramps?"

Ed breathed and sagged in relief and the expression he suddenly graced Roy with was a mixture of nonplussed pride. "Yeah. We _both_ only found out yesterday." Then he shot a warning glare, and added, "And if you give me any shit about it, I'm gonna kick your ass so high up around your smug face that you'll be wearing your balls as jewelry."

Roy chuckled. "I'd wondered whether there was anything left of the Edward Elric I remembered." He flashed a knowing, casual smirk, a return to an old game. "You might not even have to jump to hit the right spot."

"Go to bed, Mustang," Ed said as he squeezed by with a face-splitting yawn, leaving a rather disappointed Roy behind in the dining room doorway.

After a moment, he laughed softly, shook his head, and started down the hall toward his room. As he neared the open door of the parlor, he could hear soft snoring and the rustle of blankets. The wan light reflected off the mirror above the mantel, just at eye level, and as he passed by, the light flared and he caught a hint of movement in the silvered glass. Roy froze, and turned to watch a shadowed form spread ragged black wings, darkening the mirror, then blow away like smoke on a nonexistent breeze. He blinked. The mirror shone softly in the darkness above the sleeping bodies on the sofas and floor. Roy Mustang shook his head and rubbed his eye. It was only a trick of the light, compounded by exhaustion. He gazed at the mirror a moment longer, then yawned and turned back toward the stairs and bed.

**__________**

**Chapter Three: July 1**

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